


Blues March

by IntuitivelyFortuitous



Series: Spones Oneshots [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Surgery/Medical, spones - Freeform, vague triumvirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntuitivelyFortuitous/pseuds/IntuitivelyFortuitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy sees his friends bleed. He loves the blood when it is inside them, flushing their cheeks and warming their skin. When it colors his hands on the operating table, he can think of little but the time he has with them, and a minute is too long to waste. He's not going to let Spock get away that easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blues March

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any comments or spot any errors, give me a shout.

“And I know this was on short notice, but it’s a planet that we haven’t had much contact with since they initially agreed to the fleet’s terms. They issued the SOS yesterday, and given that we were the closest, fleet command ordered us to respond. I want Spock, M’Benga, and Ensign Markovitch for landing party. Security can be on standby,” Jim finished. 

Leonard didn’t argue. This species wasn’t humanoid, their blood was not iron based, and they had an extremely complex nervous system. There was nothing he could do for them if he tried, even if his presence would benefit the crew. It was in situations like those where he felt a pang of jealousy for M’Benga and his vast knowledge of Xenobiology. He shook off the feeling. M’Benga was a good doctor. So was he. Enough said. 

Arms folded, he watched the bridge crew fuss over aerodynamics and atmospheric pressure from his corner. Spock was frowning. Not in the conventional sense, of course, but Leonard could tell. He had two options. The first: confront him. If this frown had something to do with the SOS, it ought to be recognized. He would also have to explain how exactly he knew that there was something wrong. _Oh, you know. I was. Just watching. As usual._ No, no thank you. Or, he could ignore it. Maybe something would go overlooked, something would go wrong, or someone would get hurt. 

“Mr. Spock,” he called. 

“Doctor. May I be of assistance?” Neither of them moved from where they stood.

“Something troubling you?” he asked, every bit as civil as he could manage.

“I find that I must frequently remind you that Vulcans do not feel ‘troubled’ as you say.” He held his hands stiffly behind his back. 

“Excuse me for thinking you might have something to share for the good of the crew. Or is it just your green blood preventing you from confronting an emotion?” So much for civility. There was something there, though, hidden behind brown eyes, and he would pry it out if it was the last thing he did.

“If emotion makes one so prickly, I am rather pleased to be without it,” Spock said. 

Jim rolled his eyes. “Come on now, boys. Is it true, Spock? Something caught your eye?”

Spock sent Leonard what could only be a glare. “Nothing immediate, Captain. I had only wished to determine the political loyalties of the signal’s origin. Czergovia has a history of complicated internal disagreements.”

“Internal disagreements, huh? Noted. Yeoman, fetch security, I’d like four on standby and three with me,” he said. Yeoman Rand in her (somewhat disastrous) hairstyle and pursed lips scuttled by with a nod. “And Mr. Spock, try not to mind Bones, I’m sure he’s just doing his job.”

“Mind me? Well, what have I done?” 

Jim chuckled. “Why, Bones, surely you know that pointing out Vulcan lapses in stoicism is offensive.”

Leonard grinned at Spock, daring him to counter. It was like baiting a highly intelligent, very strong, dog with a ball, and he knew it. Even so, getting steamrolled had its merits.

“I see that you have grown the ability to recognize posture, Doctor. Perhaps you might try to correct your own.” That eye squint was the equivalent of a middle finger.

“I believe what Spock is trying to say is that you have a stick up your ass, Bones,” Jim said gleefully. 

Leonard huffed. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“The winning side, of course.”

“My remark had nothing to do with a condition of the rectum,” Spock said, “although I would encourage you to seek medical assistance if that were the case.”

He shook his head. “If expression is so damned improper, you’d better put that smug look right back where it came from!”

Uhura glanced up from where her head was glued to the receiver. She waved Jim over and whispered in his ear. He nodded, looking back at Leonard.

“Go on, then,” Leonard said. “Be careful down there.”

“I always am,” Jim said. “Transporter ready?”

Spock nodded to him. “Doctor.”

He nodded back. “Mr. Spock.”

They transported after security. 

 

Jim beamed up a half an hour later with a girl in his arms. She was bleeding from a head wound that looked to have both an entry and an exit. Leonard dashed to the transporters, ignoring the tingle of fear, and took her pulse. There was a faint heartbeat. He lifted her eyelids. One pupil was dilated, the other was not. 

“Nurse,” he said into the receiver, “we need a…shit, get me a deep tissue regenerator and voltage meter. Jim, you do what you need to do, thanks for bringing her to me.” 

The girl’s pulse was fading fast, and he didn’t need the letters behind his name to tell that brain matter leaking from the phaser wound in her head wasn’t good. He knew that there was nothing he could do, but devil take him if he didn’t try. Leonard wrapped the gauze he carried with him lightly around the head in an effort to contain what was left of the CSF. 

Jim knew. “Spock says thanks, Bones. For making him speak up. Energize, Scotty.” 

He didn’t think about that. He didn’t have time, and he didn’t want to besides. He had a job to do.

The girl died before Chapel and her assistants made it out the med bay door. 

Ensign Markovitch wasn’t the last casualty of the day. They beamed up two out of the six security personnel, both of whom were operated on immediately by critical condition units. Jim got a concussion, and Spock...if it weren’t for M’Benga, he wouldn’t have made it to the transporter room at all. 

 

When Leonard finally made it to his office, Christine was on a sickbed. Nurse Chapel was on a sickbed, and she looked like death warmed over. 

“Jesus, Christine, what happened to you?” He swiped a tricorder over her. All her readings were normal. It was something else, then. 

She wiped away a tear and a black line of mascara. A shuddery breath was all she could seem to get out.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Leonard said, rubbing circles into her shoulder. She was never like this. Christine was a legendary beast, an enforcer of hyposprays and justice. It was odd and a little bit awkward, but his paternal instincts kicked in whenever one of his staff cried, especially this one. Nobody could say he didn’t care about his friends. “Talk to me.”

“We almost lost them today, Leonard.”

He swallowed. Yeah, they had. He had tried not to think about it. Really, really tried, at least until he got his hands on something stronger than tea. 

“I know.”

Christine leaned into him, hair still perfect even with the waterworks. “I was there when they brought him in. There was green everywhere, and you’re the only one who has ever really had to treat Spock—it took me a little while to figure out it was blood. We almost lose them a lot, but not like this.”

“You did good, Christine. You got him cleaned up enough for me to get in there, and that was what saved him. Shh,” he whispered. 

It had been a nightmare. 

She was right, there had been green everywhere. It painted the walls and flowed from the white sickbay sheets like someone had broken a faucet, and he had lay there, pale and stiff, like someone who had already died. Leonard hadn’t forgotten the girl who actually did, and he wouldn’t either. Ensign Markovitch, carried on board in Jim’s arms. Then it had been Yves and Palmer, who were still breathing now. Ten minutes after that, Spock. He had seen Christine with her elbows deep into green blood. He had heard Jim gag behind him, and all he could think was _save him_. 

A lump rose in his throat and his nose prickled. Absolutely not, only one of the medical personnel would cry today. Chapel sniffed, her shoulder a little bit bony against his chest (he didn’t complain) and took a deep breath. 

“Do you remember Roger?” She asked.

“I do.” How could he not? He had seen Jim’s face when they beamed up. It wasn’t easy to forget something like that.

“I lost him that day. There wasn’t any blood. No body, not really. I still lost him.” Her eyes were far away, seeing the fair skinned man with the most brilliant mind in one side of the galaxy. 

Leonard heard the air purifications systems click on as he nodded. Pride and intelligence didn’t always make for a good combination.

“How many years has it been?” he asked.

“Three tomorrow.”

Leonard knew better than most how hard dates could be. 

“You can’t wait,” she said. “You can’t ignore it when he could be gone at any second, without any warning.”

“Wait for what, Christine?” 

“I could have been happy. I could have married him a week earlier and had a week more time with him. You can’t wait to love them, Len.” She smelled like turpentine and lavender, and he almost forgot that she had ever been anybody other than the head nurse. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said without much conviction at all. 

He walked her to her quarters after that, and he had almost had to carry her. Fear and grief could exhaust a person more than blood loss. 

 

“You get your green-blooded ass back on that bed right now, or so help me god,” he said. No patients who had been _gored_ walking around, not today.

Spock raised a slightly weak eyebrow. “I’m rather pleased with my _green blood_ and its clear contributions to my healing rate.”

“God, so am I,” he muttered, sliding into his chair. He shoved another pillow atop the one Spock was sitting rather pointedly away from. “Lay back down. I don’t want any more pressure on your organs than absolutely necessary. Here, drink.” Leonard shoved a cocktail of multi colored pills in a tiny cup along the tray. 

“No hypospray, doctor?” He reached for them anyway with steady hands. That was good.

“I don’t want to see any more puncture wounds on you right now. You need to hydrate yourself. Three glasses in the next hour, no exceptions. And you _will_ stay in bed.”

“Why for you, Bones, that’s downright kind! Did you get hit in the head?” Jim sauntered into the room, hands in his pockets. He looked cheerful. It was probably forced. He did that when he had to face emotions other than ‘lets have fun.’

“I didn’t,” Mccoy growled, “but you did. Sit down, I’ll give you a hypo. On the house.”

“Gee, thanks.” He didn’t sit down.

“So now that I have you both right where I want you… Jim, sit your ass down and take it like a man. Or woman, for that matter.” Leonard slipped a nutrient and nanogen concoction into the pen. He wanted to have a witness when he gave bed rest orders. Command team tended to conveniently forget. 

“That’s ominous, Bones. Ouch!”

Leonard shrugged unapologetically. “Jim, M’Benga gave me your charts, and you’re on light duty for a day. Think you can manage that?”

He made a face as he walked over to the wall for a cup of water, rubbing his neck. “If you insist.”

“And you,” he turned to Spock, who was already looking a little bit droopy, “bed rest for a week.”

“That seems excessive, doctor.”

Okay, it was, maybe a little. He couldn’t help it. Sue him for being protective over a man whose guts had been on full display. But that was his team, and they were idiots, and it was up to him to pick up the pieces afterwards. 

“Fine,” he said with a sigh, “three days bed rest, and then I’ll re-assess you for active duty. Deal?”

Spock shifted, the metal bed clinking lightly. “That is much more manageable.”

The indicators above his head were still erratic, his heart rate a little bit too high and his blood pressure a tad too low, but he had lost massive amounts of blood. Leonard would have to trust that his Vulcan physiology would set that straight in the night. He, meanwhile, would be avoiding Nurse Chapel (who would force him to retire to his chambers) to sleep in his office. If something happened, he wanted to be on scene immediately. Hell, he’d take one of the sickbeds if he could. 

His job here was done for the moment and he didn’t have a valid excuse to stick around, so retreat to the office it was. “Don’t keep him up much longer, Jim. You should be getting rest, too.” He clapped Spock on the shoulder as he stood to leave. 

“Will do, Bones.”

 

“Well, that was strange,” Jim said as his friend closed himself in his office. 

“Strange, captain?”

He turned to his first officer, eyes glinting. “That was actually good bedside manner that we just saw. When was the last time he was _nice_ to a patient?”

“I cannot recall.”

“Because it doesn’t happen. You really gave him a scare, there, Spock. Me too, for that matter.” He ran a hand through his hair, finding a little crumble of dried blood. 

Spock frowned, or moved his eyebrows in an almost indistinguishable manner. “I will endeavor to not repeat the experience.”

“You should tell him that. It would reassure him.” He’d probably go back to being mean, but, well. At least he would stop worrying. Leonard McCoy worried about him, feared for him, even, and when he came back to the ship in pieces, he patched him up with a frown. Anyone could heal him, but McCoy was the only one he would trust to do it out of more than obligation. They had been through plenty enough together for Jim to be able to tell when his doctor’s worried glances became more than just analytical assessments. 

“I do not see how my reassurances would impact Dr. Mccoy’s ability to conduct his practices,” Spock said. Jim handed him a cup of water. 

“Drink. You know, as much as he bickers, you’re as important to him as I am. He saw you come close to death today, Spock, of course he’d be worried.”

An eyebrow was raised. “I must express my doubt that the doctor feels anything for me but animosity.”

“Are you not a touch telepath? He grabbed you on the shoulder on the way out. What did you feel?” 

“I strengthen my shields when he is nearby. He has made it quite clear that he does not wish to experience my ‘Vulcan voodoo’. Do you suggest otherwise?” For a man who did not do rhetorical questions, he was quite the natural.

Jim rubbed a hand into his temple. “I do suggest otherwise. Just pay attention to him, yeah?”

“I always pay attention,” Spock said.

He rolled his eyes as elaborately as he possibly could.

 

“Poker night, McCoy?” Sulu asked on Wednesday, slinging an arm over the doctor’s shoulder. 

“I have patients, kid. I can’t just up and leave them for the very tempting offer of alcohol.”

That wasn’t entirely true. The injured security men had been released the day before, and his only long term patient was Spock, who, if he behaved, would be clear for duty that night. There was a boy with the flu, but that was the general physician’s problem, not his.

“Well, why don’t we just come by the sickbay, then? That way we’d force Spock into participating.”

“Absolutely not, the sick bay is for _sick people_. I don’t want you lot bumbling around in there like a pack of monkeys.” It would be fun, though. And Spock wasn’t really doing that much resting, anyway. He should have banned scientific research.

So, of course, when dinnertime rolled around, it looked like half of the ship was crowded into his office. 

“You know, when a lady says ‘no,’ you’ve got to respect her wishes,” he said. 

“And you are the finest and most delicate lady of them all,” Jim snarked. “I brought you a present.”

“It had better be brandy.”

“Scotch, actually, courtesy of Scotty. I think he does it just to be cute.” 

Leonard snickered. “Scotty the Scotsman who drinks scotch? Oh, undoubtedly.”

A couple glasses clinked in the background, and Leonard turned to see Spock being crowded by a very relieved looking Uhura, Chekov babbling about something in almost passable English, and Sulu smirking at him like he had just won something. Which he may have, to be fair. 

“Hand the scotch over, kid, I can’t handle this without something to dull the pain,” he said. “I could have sworn we weren’t allowed alcohol on the ship. Must have been my imagination.”

Jim smirked and poured some into a…paper cup? 

“What the hell is this? We’re not at a goddamn underage tailgate party. I’ll be right back.”

He may or not have a stash of proper glass in a corner of his office. It might even be chilled, too. He would, however, not share. Jim just shook his head as he transferred the golden liquid into Leonard’s now acceptable cup. He held it up to the light. He took a sip. Yeah, Scotty knew his stuff. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, walking to Sulu, “But I see no poker, cards or dice. You’re a conniving little shit, you know that?”

He flashed Leonard a bright grin. “Come on, doctor. There’s something to celebrate here. We all lived. We completed the mission successfully. Spock gets off of bed rest in an hour.”

He spared a glance at this patient. “Yeah, I suppose there is.” Spock glanced up from Uhura to him. A tingle ran up his spine, and he quite pointedly ignored it. “Scuse me for a second,” he told Sulu. “I’m going to check on my _patient_.”

Sulu just chuckled and patted him on the back. 

Uhura smiled at him as he approached. “Doctor to the rescue?”

“Only if one of you is in distress. Sorry to interrupt, but I’d rather get a few readings on him before it gets too crazy in here. The second you folks become disruptive, you’re out of here, you know that, right?”

She nodded. “I know. Everyone had just been hoping to…” 

“Ease recovery? It was a good idea. Let’s get him cleared from bed rest and we’ll see about letting nurse Chapel off for an hour, how about it?” He smiled to himself as she gave him a one armed hug and joined the rest of the crew where they had violated the food rules of the sickbay. 

“Enjoying yourself, doctor?”

Someone had brought Spock his uniform. 

“Getting ahead of things, are we?” he set down his drink and scanned the area of the wound. Blood pressure and heart rate had evened out that first night, and the scans were normal. 

“The captain brought me my uniform in hopes that it might convince you to release me from bed rest.”

“The captain is a shit. Tell me if something hurts.” He gently prodded Spock’s stomach and ignored how comforting it was to feel a healthy warmth radiating from beneath regulation blues. He watched Spock’s face closely for any hint of a flinch. Spock revealed nothing but a thoughtful frown.

“Is my healing rate satisfactory, doctor?” he asked. 

“As good as ever, Mr. Spock. I think I can release you an hour early. Go on, join the fray.” He pocketed his tricorder, and Spock’s hand closed around his wrist. It was getting very, very difficult to ignore the flush travelling from his back to his neck. “Problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I had been advised to…That is, I will avoid such situations in the future, doctor. I had not been aware that others held such concern for my well being.”

“Are you joking? You’re the goddamn first officer of this ship and if you think that any of the crew doesn’t care about you, you’ve got another thing coming.” _He doesn’t mean you in particular, calm down._

Spock’s eyebrow twitched into a frown. “Perhaps the Captain was incorrect in his assumption that saying so would be reassuring.”

Leonard huffed. “So it was Jim who put you up to this, was it? Makes sense. You wouldn’t—”

“Not entirely, doctor.” His words were punctuated with a squeeze around the wrist. Leonard felt his heart pulse where they maintained contact. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe Chekov has been trying to get my attention.”

Sure enough, the boy was bouncing on his toes, holding a PADD and a drink. Was he old enough to drink? Leonard hoped so. He followed Spock to the food (and alcohol, yes please) table. Jim caught his eye and grinned. _Asshole._

“I’m impressed, Bones. There hasn’t been one single outburst about cleanliness or sanitary activity.” Jim sloshed another dribble of golden liquid into his cup. 

He frowned. “I’m not a Vulcan, Jim. I can understand that they want to let go a little bit.”

“Perhaps you should try it sometime. It’d be fun. Spock, Bones has got these nice, pretty cups. Would you care to try some Scotch?” 

Leonard did his best to glare Jim into submission. It wasn’t working. 

“Alcohol does not cause inebriation in Vulcans, Captain,” Spock said. 

“It’s for the taste. Come on, try some. Bones, give it up.” 

Leonard relinquished the grip he had on his glass and handed it to Spock, who glanced at him for a moment. He wrapped his hand around where fingerprints still marred the side and then sipped directly where Leonard’s mouth had just been. There was a light sheen of scotch on Spock’s lips and the urge to lick the flavor from them hit Leonard like a freight train. It suddenly became rather hard to breathe.

“Thank you for the offer,” Spock cringed, shoving the scotch back into Leonard’s hands. 

He couldn’t help but snicker. “No?” 

“The only reason a human would drink that substance is to feel the chemical effects,” he said.

“It is something of an acquired taste,” Jim agreed. “You’d be more of a Bloody Mary type, I think.”

“Pardon?”

Jim rolled his eyes and sauntered towards a rather pretty science officer. 

“There he goes,” Leonard said. 

“And I feel that I might retire as well.”

Leonard nodded approvingly. “You’re still on light duty for a day, so don’t push yourself.”

Spock gave him the Vulcan equivalent of Jim’s ‘stop fussing I can take care of myself’ glare. Leonard just grinned in response.

 

Jim stared. He had been doing so for the last few hours. It was getting very annoying. 

“Dammit, Jim, stop looking at me like that! What do you want?”

“I want you to admit it.”

Leonard crossed his arms, food forgotten. “Oh do you, now? And what would that be?”

“That you’re holding a torch for my first officer, obviously!” he pouted when Leonard didn’t say anything. 

Uhura chuckled and patted him on the back before dragging a smashed Scotty out the door.

“Hey,” he said, flagging her down. “Do you want a hangover hypo for later?”

“No,” she smiled pristinely. “I think I’d rather let him suffer in the morning. Good luck, doctor. Night, Captain.”

Jim whistled. “That woman is a force of nature.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

He watched his med bay being diligently cleaned up by the stubborn but drunk Sulu and Chekov. Sulu tripped on the edge of a bed, smashing his nose into his friend’s shoulder. Chekov turned in surprise and bumped into a chair.

“A comedy duo, those two are,” he sighed. “Go on and get to bed. Come back in the morning if it’s that bad.”

“We’re not done yet, Doc,” protested Sulu. 

Leonard found himself grinning. “Jim here will help me clean up. Do I need to tell you twice?”

“No sir!” Sulu flashed him a salute as he walked out and Chekov just looked confused. 

Jim was still staring at him.

“Jesus Christ, kid. Surely you have something better to do,” he muttered.

“You didn’t deny it.”

Leonard scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Are we still going on about this?”

“We are,” Jim said, picking up a cup and tossing it onto a tray with a _clack_ , “until you tell me exactly what is going through your head.”

He sat on the edge of an unmade bed, thinking of Christine shaking in his arms. “I don’t do casual attraction like you do, Jim.”

Jim gave him a long look. “I know.”

“Then I don’t know what else you want me to say.”A red shirt was tossed into his hands. He had no idea whose it was. 

“I just wanted to know,” Jim said, “The level of infection and whatnot.”

“It’s not a disease, you know,” he said, folding it and shoving it onto the counter next to the faucet. 

“Isn’t it?”

Leonard just raised an eyebrow. “If it was, it might be chronic.”

“Oh _shit,_ Bones.”

“Yep.”

There was the swish of a sonic cleaner from the other side of the room. Leonard balled up the sheets on Spock’s bed and tossed them into a bin. The new ones smelled like rubbing alcohol and detergent. He really, really hoped no rubbing alcohol had been consumed.

“So I can’t…get you a tribble and hope it’s enough?” 

“Well first, where the fuck did you get that idea? And second, no,” he said. 

“I’m just surprised,” he said, patting Leonard on the arm, “no need to get defensive.”

He flushed as Jim mussed his hair on his way out.

 

“Come on, Miri, you can make it. I just need you to talk to me okay?”

He could hear the ensign from the hall even as he ran. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his footsteps sounded muffled as he crashed through the door.

“Shalina, it hurts. I don’t…wanna talk.” It sounded forced. 

“Please, please,” the dark skinned girl muttered, her eyes wild and her red shirt drenched in the other kid’s blood. “Oh Dr. Mccoy, thank god, she got hit and we beamed right up but it was too late and I—”

“It’s okay, hon, you did well. Just stand back and we’ll take her from here.” 

M’Benga fell into place beside him, holding the tricorder above her abdomen. “Holy…her radiation levels are off the charts, Doc. I’m afraid to even use the tricorder. She needs surgery now, and…I don’t think we can do it with the regenerator.”

Leonard nodded. “I know. Her stomach’s leaking into her lung, goddamn transporters. We could have acid damage. Did it clip the spine?”

“Yeah, the T 12. I see two clear entry wounds, no exit. Whatever they were using, it wasn’t a phaser. It’s still in there.”

He peeled on his gloves. “Stretcher, now! M’Benga, immobilize the projectile, if it moves when we move her she might as well be a goner. You, kid, take the feet. Alright, M’Benga, your count.” They rolled on three, Leonard guiding her head as they went. M’Benga was desperately holding her stomach still, regenerator buzzing on the lowest setting. She was bleeding freely now, and they had easy access to the entry wounds. Whoever shot her got her from behind. 

“Lift!”

They rushed toward the med bay, bushy haired ensign running after like it was all she could do. He would need her gone, but he knew what it was like to feel useless.  
The vital meters were erratic. M’Benga was the best physician on the ship, but he wasn’t qualified for surgery on the level that McCoy was. Leonard looked at him in a rare state of panic and he just shook his head. 

“Shit, M’Benga, I’m going to have to cut her open.”

“We can’t! She’s lost too much blood, and her nutrient intake will be almost nill,” he said, turning the regenerator over in his hands. 

Leonard nodded. “Regenerate what you can around the object, we’re going to have to remove it later. Don’t worry about the surface for now. Nurse, get three inches of nanotube fiber dressing and liquid latex.”

“Stabilize her until we can hypo her full of regeneratives then open surgery? That’s your plan?” 

“You got something better, kid, I’d love to hear it,” he said, sonic washing the blood from the surface of her skin. He spread the adhesive around the wound and pressed the clear lining over the entry. 

“Can’t say I do,” he gasped. “Alright, she’s hit the radiation limit. I don’t want to contact the objects with the regenerator while we still don’t know what they are.”

“We’ll have to…” Leonard grasped another pad of adhesive and covered it before the bleeding could start again, “find that girl who was on planet and ask if she has any idea.”

They had her—Mirielle—breathing on her own a half an hour later, an IV pinched into her wrist. Leonard gave her three hours until their patch job gave out. It should be enough. If not, he had the entire nursing staff watching over her. 

The screen beeped. “Bridge to sickbay.”

He pressed the button. 

“Bones, this is Jim. We’re going back down with a full security team. You’re on board.”

“Fucking hell, Jim, I’ve got a patient here in critical. She needs surgery in less than three hours.” He rubbed his temples with one hand and held up the bloody gloves with his other. 

“Damn. Is M’Benga there?”

“Yeah, he’s on duty. I’ll send him up. What the hell happened to my patient?”

He heard frantic chatter from the other end of the line. “She was shot down by a terrorist squad—the local government shut them down just after she was hit. That’s not why we’re there anymore.”

“Well then what, Jim?” he couldn’t help it if he sounded a little bit frantic. 

Jim just sighed. “They’ve had three 8.0 earthquakes in the last month. According to the readings, something’s going to blow, and it will be bigger than Yellowstone when it does. We might have to aid relocation. Spock’s got to go down there and determine the epicenter, and I’ve got to confirm that they don’t want asylum. It’s going south either way, Bones. The most we can do is see that the least amount of them die as possible.”

“Shit. When do you leave?”

“Thirty.”

A bubble of panic rose from his chest. “Is he even qualified for that?”

“I don’t know! He just said that he could do it and at this point I couldn’t care less. He’s the best chance they’ve got,” Jim said. He swore under his breath. 

“I’ve got to see him,” is all Leonard could say. 

“He’s in the labs.”

“Jim, you be careful out there or I’m coming to get you myself, do you understand?”

“I’ve got you, Bones,” he said, eyes smiling. “Kirk out.”

He turned to M’Benga.

“Yeah, I heard him. You can do it then?” he fidgeted a little bit, eyeing the girl on the operating table. 

“M’Benga, it would be hells easier with you, but I can still manage without,” Leonard said. “Tell Christine I’m leaving for a bit, will you?”

 

Spock was in the labs, hooking a something-or-other up to a thingamajig. He didn’t look up when Leonard entered. There was a squad of blue shirts crowding around a monitor and whispering. It wasn’t a completely comforting scene. 

“Mr. Spock,” he said.

The other man looked up from his project and waved over an ensign. 

“I want the copper completely insulated. I will return momentarily,” he instructed.

“Yes sir.”

Leonard waited outside the door. 

“You wished to see me, doctor?”

He took a breath. “I hear you’re about to something incredibly stupid.”

“And yet, I am the most logical choice for this task.”

“Spock, if you go out there and die before I’ve kissed you, I will be whole new levels of pissed off, believe me.” There. He said it. He was completely prepared for the urination remark Spock was undoubtedly about to make, and even more prepared for the “I do not understand your intentions, doctor,” or something equally irritating. 

Spock didn’t do any of that. He stepped forward, ignoring the yeoman bustling down the isle, grabbed Leonard’s hand and pressed their fingers together. There was a jolt of heat like a roman candle that passed through his hand, and he opened his mouth to speak but he forgot what he was going to say. Then, for all the world to see, Spock kissed him. Leonard’s heart rate skyrocketed and god, if that was what Vulcan voodoo was like, he should have done it a long time ago. His reservations rocketed past, leaving nothing but the electric buzz that threatened to take control of all of his thoughts. This was way, _way_ better than being drunk, he managed to think.

“I would hope so, doctor,” Spock said. “I believe we have something to talk about when I return.”

“You better return,” Leonard said, and reluctantly let their hands untangle. Christine was right. He should have done that a year ago, so they would have more time until one of them finally ran out.

 

Mirielle died once. Whatever was inside her was organic, growing and pulsing, seeping into her veins and wrapping around her ribs like vines. It was bio-warfare, and Leonard was almost too late to figure it out. Nurse Chapel restarted her heart as he poured the chemical equivalent of antifreeze into the hole he created in her belly. They writhed, she writhed, and he plucked them out. It would be minutes yet before her radiation levels could handle any more regeneration, but he could sew her up and sonic the poison from her insides. Every stitch was careful, every slice deliberate. He repaired her small intestine and gasped in relief as the regenerator burst to life. She was whole again, and her body was warm. In a couple of days, she might even wake up.

He slept for nine hours. He woke up to a beep and Kirk grinning from the screen in his room.

Leonard’s brain vaguely registered that it was rather early in the morning. His right arm was still fast asleep. “Dammit, Jim,” he said groggily, “you knew how worried I was, why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

Spock appeared behind him. “We were aware that you had performed an extensive surgery. It seemed logical to allow you your rest.”

“Logical, my ass. I’m going to get a cup of coffee and then you, Jim Kirk, are going to brief me like you are supposed to. And you,” he glared at Spock, “are going to be there. Good? Great.” He shut the connection without waiting for a response.

He brushed his teeth and washed the Sonics over his skin. Coffee. He really needed some sort of stimulant to be ready for those two so early in the morning. And then the Talk. He felt like a fifteen year old. 

They met in the hallway to the bridge, Leonard with his arms crossed and his best school principal face. Spock seemed as unflappable as usual, but at least Jim had the sense to look a little bit guilty. 

“Let’s go to the mess,” suggested Jim. 

“Yes, lets,” he said bitterly, although it pleased him immensely when Spock fell into step beside him without hesitation. He clutched his coffee to him like it was the only thing keeping him moving. 

“Give me a sip of that,” Jim said as they sat down.

“Get your own.”

Spock rolled his eyes almost too quickly to be seen. 

“So, we get down on their soil,” Jim began as they sat, “And there are people running everywhere. Our guide has some sort of baggy green cloth over his head yelling about spirits, and the ground is shaking so hard I can’t stand up. This is nothing compared to the earthquakes in San Francisco, Bones, it was like the thing was just about to blow. Spock takes one of their vehicles, a sort of hover-tricycle, and zooms away. M’Benga looked like he was going to lose his shit, but he cooled right down and pulled out the regenerator. There wasn’t much we could do until Spock figured out where it was coming from, so I played medical assistant for a little while after organizing emergency transport. About a half an hour later, Spock is flying back on a half-wrecked bike and shouting coordinates at me, and we got them all moved before it exploded. Bones, imagine an atom bomb but with fire and comets and you’ve got the right picture.”

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose. “And of course neither of you had the good sense to transport back before the volcano went off?”

Jim shrugged. “We were there anyway, and…”

“It was educational,” Spock supplied. 

“You two are never going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“I have a video if you want to see it,” Jim said.

He glared. He didn’t want to encourage idiocy, but he did want to see it a little bit. “Yeah, okay.”

“I told you, Spock. He can’t be angry for long.”

“I can,” Leonard said, “when it comes to you!”

“But not Spock, right?”

He scoffed. “No one can be angry at Spock. He drug you to Talos IV and you were mad for all of an hour.”

“This is true,” Spock said.

“Well,” Jim said suddenly, “I’m going to head back to the bridge. See you both later.”

There was a period of confused silence where they both stared at the door.

“He has no sense of timing, does he?” Leonard mumbled to himself.

Spock’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “On the contrary,” he said. “I believe he meant well.”

“So,” he coughed. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

He stood and Spock joined him. He wasn’t sure where they were walking to, but it was the morning, and much quieter in the halls going away from the replicators.

“I will assume that the confrontation prior to the mission was not, as humans call it, a ‘heat of the moment’ occurrence?” Spock raised a delicately shaped eyebrow inquisitively.

“No, it wasn’t. Not on my part, at least.” Leonard neglected to mention that there was some amount of pining involved. 

“Nor on mine.” Spock stopped him and they leaned against the wall of a deserted hallway. “I have to confess, it was at the captain’s interference that I learned your feelings toward myself weren’t as negative as they seemed.”

He chuckled. Trust Jim to clear the way. “I wasn’t too sure about you, either. Not until you pulled that stunt with the scotch.”

Spock’s lips quirked upward. “To do so on Vulcan would be…blatant solicitation.”

He barked out a laugh. “So that was why M’Benga looked like he had bitten a lemon!”

Finger brushed his and sparks erupted up his arm as a green tinged hand reached for his coffee cup. “You’re doing that on purpose aren’t you?” he asked, suppressing a shiver.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spock said, raising the cup to his lips. “I find this liquid much preferable to the other.”

“Well, good,” Leonard said, and kissed it from his lips. 

Spock squeezed his hip—and apparently the cup. Coffee spilled over his hand and he perceivably winced.

“Oh, put that down. Is it burnt?” Leonard asked, making a futile attempt to ignore the lighting as he grabbed the hand to inspect.

“Negative, doctor.” 

“I’d better check,” he said, and licked the tender skin over his knuckles. Spock turned greener than a lime.

Oh this would be so, so much fun. 

 

The next time Spock went planet-side, Leonard was to go with him. It was so, so incredibly awkward the first time he put into words how worried he had been when he was stuck back on the ship with nothing to do but watch. It made Spock’s ears turn green, so he still thought it was worth it.

This time, as the three were on a minor moon about split up in a desperate search for a poisonous plant of some sort, he hadn’t been able to summon up his gruff demeanor. 

“Be careful,” he managed to both of them.

Spock said, “I find that I am compelled to do so to a greater degree than I was before I had those who wish to see me safe.”

He felt a lump rise in his throat and he grabbed Spock’s hand harder than necessary since he didn’t plan on letting it go (ever) again.

Jim said, “oh, Spock, how downright human of you,” and held them both down for a hug.

**Author's Note:**

> www.regulationblues.tumblr.com


End file.
